


Issues

by ybarra



Series: Melody Island [2]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: A Heartbroken Astrid, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Astrid Is A Little Shit, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Hiccstrid - Freeform, Hiccup Is A Little Shit, One-Shot Collection, Sasstrid, Songfic, That Thing Called Destiny, but hey, is something you don't often see, tattooes, we gotta have it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 13:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14791127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ybarra/pseuds/ybarra
Summary: She was like Mt. Etna waiting to explode but ashes and smoke were rising from within and out of the crater, alerting people of her wrath. In her anger, sprung out sorrow like she’s never felt before and cried for hours in the airport at Rome with everyone staring at her like some insane person.





	Issues

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by Julia Michaels "Issues" and That Thing Called Tadhana (Destiny) and so I made my own Hiccstrid twist with it. I do hope you guys like it.

_“But you don’t judge me. ‘Cause if you did, baby, I would judge you too”_

**\- Issues**

Never have been getting home felt so alive—especially from a vacation or failed permanent residency. Especially as she had enough of the pain and drama that made her want to burn Rome into ashes like what happened to Pompeii. She was like Mt. Etna waiting to explode but ashes and smoke were rising from within and out of the crater, alerting people of her wrath. In her anger, sprung out sorrow like she’s never felt before and cried for hours in the airport at Rome with everyone staring at her like some insane person. It was because of her pent up frustration, anger and sadness—and that her baggage was too overweight and no matter what trash in her luggage she threw on the trash can, it was still overweight. She might not get home and would have extended her stay to this heck of a country which brought her to this emotional crisis and with the dilemma haunting her mind, she lashed out everything on the trash can.

Someone approached her, pitying her situation. It was his kind attention and willingness to have a few of her things be put into his luggage. She responded with reluctant and threatening stance but otherwise, agreed out of desperation to pass the check in counter. She smiled for the first time in weeks and the man who had helped her felt so charmed by it that he tagged along and got to know the miserable lady in the airport.

To his surprise, she was from his small town; however, she lived on the south side of town, while he lived on the north. When asked about her age, they were only months apart. It made him wonder why he had never seen her before since they also studied on the same academy during middle school and high school, but he shrugged his questions off as they got to the later parts of her life. She only explained briefly, still a bit watchful whether his actions were generous and of a gentleman or he was some other bastard looking for someone to blackmail and stalk. But she was convinced otherwise, this man was a genuine one since he did save her from more scandalous situations while they’re on the plane. It was also plastered in his face—a complete dork, tiny freckles all over his face and a cute stub right in his chin—however, she would be lying if she denied having grown a bit attracted by him. She was delighted to have him around for a while.

They passed the immigration counters and walked to the elevator to get to the baggage claim. Apparently, they had just returned from Rome and being back on Norway was a relief—at least for Alma, she really wanted to get away from Rome as much as possible after the whole fiasco and drama she’s been to with her now ex-boyfriend.  She turned to the man beside her who took a glance at her also—like a gentleman his stance was and she thought it was cute and returned a smile at him before shifting her eyes away.

The gentleman couldn’t help but let out a cheeky grin. It was like that moment your crush smiled at you and you can’t help but squeal in delight and that was how he felt—but of course, not the squealing part. He cleared his throat, shifting his eyes back at the conveyor belt on watch for her baggage but Alma couldn’t help it otherwise, “You’re really gonna wait for me this far?” she asked.

“You stuff is with me” he simply answered.

“But you can just hand them to me” she prompted.

“You have a point” he said, “But we live on the same town, your stuff is too many and too big for you to handle and you’ll need protection from at least making another scandal”

Alma couldn’t helped but feel insulted—especially on that last part, “I did not make a scandal and I will never make a scandal”

“Yes, you did” he said, “Firstly, you cried at the airport, then literally thrashed the trash can and on the plane, you voiced the stewardess”

Okay, Alma took back everything she thought about this guy.

“I did not voice the stewardess, okay? I was merely defending my principle” Alma retorted.

“Tissue, Alma. You were fighting for tissue” he corrected out, “Why were you even crying while gazing out the window—did the clouds suddenly fascinate you so much that you had to cry?”

Yeah, Alma just took everything back now.

The belt was filled with new luggage but still can’t find theirs and the more each moment passed, Alma felt more irritated especially with this man beside her and his sarcastic remarks and comebacks. But then again, this man was all Alma has for a company. She could contact her friends, yes, but they didn’t have any word of what happened yet and Alma wanted to be away from them for a while but not entirely alone. This new acquaintance she has attained at the airport has been proven more helpful than her best friend and flatmate, Rafaela. Alma eyed him carefully again and as her eyes wandered and took note of every striking feature, she couldn’t help but notice something oddly peculiar about his baggage, ostensibly.

“That’s really all your things, huh” she started yet another conversation.

He turned to her and nodded, shifting his eyes to his little ol’ suitcase, “These? Yeah”

“That’s it?” Alma can’t be more amused by the idea, “How’d you fit your things and mine in there? It’s such a small suitcase”

“Well, it just fits everything that I need” he replied.

Alma eyes shifted to the conveyor belt, jolting as she noticed her suitcase passing by them and went after it. She grabbed the big luggage but was assisted by the fine gentleman who eventually carried the suitcase himself. He grunted as he lifted it off the belt and struggled to get it to the carriage, “Shit, that’s heavy!” he groaned as he shook his hands to wear the pain off.

“Of course it is” Alma commented, “My whole life is in there so please excuse me. We don’t think alike”

He pushed the cart away but Alma stopped him and eyed him intently with a glare, “I have another one” she barked.

“Another one” he muttered, his heels turning the cart towards the belt.

Silence came after between them and he can’t help but feel awkward especially seeing the girl beside him had a glare. He took a quick glance at her and brought up his hand, lightly scratching his cheek, “So, literally speaking, you really have your whole life there?” he stuttered, trying to ease up the mood between them.

Alma turned her head towards him but gave no answer, but at least her glare faltered and her face was in a straight line. His eyes met with hers and he brings down his hand and it overlapped his other on the cart’s handle. Her arms were crossed, her hair was dishevelled and her eyes were still red and droopy from all that crying, that black choker and dark tint of lipstick on her lips and her red sweater mixed with a brown furred cardigan—she was so beautiful to be crying in his opinion and can’t help but stare at her.

He shook his head, trying to relieve himself from staring too much and turned his head away, “You’re bound to have excess baggage then” he muttered.

It was something dangerous to say, especially to a woman like Alma who had the fiercest attitude and apparently, great hearing. She grabbed the poor man on his shoulder and turned him to face her and gave him a punch as his eyes met up with hers. He yelped and cried in pain but Alma couldn’t care less if people were looking at them—particularly her—again and grabbed her other baggage that just showed up and pushed the cart and pulled the poor man with her.

Alma walked towards the exit and settled her baggage in a corner and released the injured man from her grab with a frustrated huff, “You know, I’ve had it with your punch lines. You’ve been at it for too long and it’s goddamn insulting!”

“You could’ve just said so!” he retorted.

“I’m not like that” she remarked, “Especially with you judging me too much”

He shook his head, surprised by her remark. His brows furrowed and he ignored the fading pain from his cheek and shifted his eyes and met her glare, “I judged you?” he questioned.

“You judged me, asshole” she retorted.

Finally comprehending what she was talking about and the peril situation he got himself into, it was impossible to deny what she heard and she had heard right but interpreted wrong—at least from his point of view. Alma stepped away from him and walked away with the heavy cart, leaving without him even trying to explain himself—he actually didn’t need to, Alma heard enough.

But he wasn’t going down without a fight or at least a statement. In an attempt to redeem himself, he tried to explain himself and chased after her, calling her name to gain her attention but she only ignored him and kept walking. But after a few good steps, he finally caught up with her and stopped her from leaving the bay, even damaging his feet on the process and crashing his body onto the cart. Alma stopped and watched as he scrambled to stand up and let out a few groans of pain. But before Alma could ram the cart onto him again, he held his hands up in the air, “Look, I didn’t judge you, okay? I was just stating the fact that your whole life is in that suitcase as you said and that it was overweight. How was that even judgmental?” he defended.

"Something about me bringing my whole life then having excess baggage" Alma answered, "You were implying that I shouldn't have brought my entire life so I wouldn't go over the allowance—that I should have spared something for myself so I'll have something to go home for"

He shook his head for the nth time that day as he once again tried processing her words into his head. He can’t get why Alma came up with that conclusion when he just commented it in a manner of a small joke—again, at least in his perspective, but no, like Alma said, they don’t think alike. But, he snapped out of his trance when he heard Alma speak in such retorting manner as possible, "Sorry, I really thought I needed all of my things, but I was wrong, I just thought I might"

Alma pushed the cart past him but he didn’t let her out of sight again and offered to push the cart instead of her as an attempt on apologizing. She was reluctant to let him but he pushed through and eventually accepted the help as the cart was getting heavier for her by the minute, or it was because she’s drained much energy from the past restless days.

“So I’m the judgmental one” he muttered, “Touché”

Alma didn’t reply and watched him put his baggage into the cart and push it to the end of the bay to the taxi stand. As they walked towards the end of the bay, Alma noticed he attempted to start another and hopefully, something lighter of a conversation between them but he would shut his mouth before air would even come out. It was a strange feeling for Alma but she felt bad for lashing out on him again—well, to make a fair point, he did start the whole argument but she had dealt with way worse and should’ve at least not punched him in the face in public and used her words.

"You know, for a fishbone, you're strong"

"There's a thing called underestimation" he replied with a chuckle.

"True, but seriously..." Alma nodded along.

"You know, for a lady, you are violent" he commented.

"There's a thing called underestimation" now it was Alma’s turn to laugh.

“But that violent trait of yours… does it have something to do with that tattoo on your wrist?” he asked.

Alma eyed him and held her wrist where the tattoo was located, “How’d you know about my tattoo?” she asked, “Were you checking me out?”

“No!” he exclaimed, “If you could remember, you rolled your sleeves up on the plane and I noticed the tattoo by chance”

Alma nodded, convinced by the explanation. She took a quick glance of her wrist where the tattoo was located and her face scrunched, struggling to recall why she had a tattoo and where did she get it but failed to recall so and gave out a sigh, “I honestly don’t remember why and where I got it” she answered, “I probably had this while I was drunk somewhere. I never really pay attention to it and sometimes I’d forget having this obvious tattoo on my arm”

“It’s really gothic” he commented, “I was gonna ask if it had an artsy meaning”

“Do tattoos need to have an artsy meaning?” she asked.

“Well, yeah… it’s also a form of art so it’s gotta have a meaning” he answered.

Alma nodded, understanding this man’s take on tattoos. She gazed at her wrist and tried remembering the details of her tattoo that covered for the most part because of her sweater. It was a paper plane etched on her wrist and a trail inked throughout her arms and the trail leads up to her forearm where there was a grenade with its pin laying inked somewhere in her arm. For the most part, she was confused as to why such symbols did she pick for a tattoo, affirming the fact that she might’ve been drunk when she had that tattoo and why the hell did she had a tattoo the first place, further confirming that conclusion.

“Well, Mr. Artsy, do you have any tattoos?” she asked.

“It’s Harold and yes, I have one” he answered, “On my back”

“Well, does that have any artsy meaning?”

“Oh yeah” he replied, “It’s pretty deep, if you ask me and I designed it myself”

“Oh God, I hope it isn’t some sort of a woman’s image or anything crappy” Alma scorned.

Harold couldn’t be any more offended with his art be called crappy and gave a playful smirk towards Alma, “Oh, you would be surprised on how majestic it looks” he coaxed.

“Then let’s see it” she dared.

Harold’s face flushed down to a total shock as he didn’t move. Meanwhile, Alma crossed her arms and lets out a stern and intense look towards Harold, daring him to publicly show his back just for her to see his tattoo, at least that what she meant. Alma could laugh until the next hour on how she managed to fire back at his shrewd comebacks but she wanted him to do it and kept up the act. He returned a reluctant look and furrowed his brows, “Are you serious?” he asked.

“Yeah, let’s see it now” Alma answered.

“But this is a public place”

“So what? It’s just your back” Alma replied, “It’s not like I strip you off of your dignity”

Harold huffed, unable to understand her impulsive personality and turned around and took off his jacket then he lifted his shirt to reveal his tattoo. Alma studied the tattoo which almost covered his entire back and she was quite impressed with the detailed design and the harmonic colours he used that wasn’t over the top and was just right but at the same time, it befitted it well. But the design that stood out the most was the black dragon on the middle with a red tailfin and it was the feature that got her staring at it the most.

The second later, Harold released the fabric, letting it cover his skinny body and slid his jacket back on again. He turned back to Alma with a cheeky grin and took note of her smile, “It was nice” she said, “You’re quite the artist”

Harold lets out a sigh, “How is this about me now?” he asked.

"You asked me so I'm gonna ask you about it also. Isn't that a way of getting to know a person? When you ask them a question and they answer, expect them ask the same question back"

"You really have a way of reasoning" Harold chuckled.

They could tell they were enjoying one’s company a lot despite their many differences and shaky personalities and it brought them at least a step to being friends. In all honesty, Alma was glad she found out about her ex’s infidelity and got to meet a new friend she might not admit but is the best person she had met in all her 23 years of living in the crappy world. Meanwhile, Harold felt likewise, but it was more of an attracted-on-first-sight kind of issue and couldn’t help but to assist the lovely but sorrowful lady back home, but nevertheless, he was glad to also have met Alma or his life would’ve gotten too boring after the passing years of newly adulthood.

Let’s just leave it like that, as they couldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
